Hymn For the Missing
by Marmalah
Summary: "I've seen it, Dean," he says, and his hands reach blindly for his brother but only encounter flames. "I've seen Purgatory." Semi-AU.


_I like this a lot, actually. First person, 'cause... Just 'cause. This is a different take on Purgatory, based on Catholic beliefs and all that stuff (I'm not Catholic, I just read about it). Kinda jumbled and all that, but it's supposed to be._

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**_Hymn For the Missing_**

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It was on a Tuesday that his eyes began to bleed. "I've seen it, Dean," he says, and his hands reach blindly for his brother but only encounter flames.

_- - - /_

He stares unseeingly at the wall because it doesn't even matter whether or not he can see anymore. He doesn't want to see. He doesn't want to know.

"You can tell me anything, Sammy," Dean says, but Sam immediately shakes his head. He stops staring at the white wall long enough to look at Dean, and the fear in his eyes is obvious. He's drowning in it; slowly losing himself, bit by bit–and yet they're so clear that, even though his skin is pale and clammy, his eyes are full of emotion and life and the difference is almost scary.

And suddenly, Dean is drowning, too, because he's afraid for his brother. Afraid of what happened and what's to come. "You don't want to know," Sam pipes up quietly and Dean fights back cries of grief and frustration and he feels like he's losing his brother even though he's right next to him.

"Sam–"

"You will never want to know." Something about his tone makes the older brother realize that Sam has already said more than he's willing to say. And so he leaves.

___- - - /_

"Dean!" Sam screams, but no matter how loud or how long he yells at the top of his lungs, Dean never comes. Instead, strangers surround him and they poke and they prod; never ending. The skin on his arm is being pulled and stretched and he convulses, trying to get away because any one of the people–_things_–could be a monster.

"Demons!" He yells this time, but he doesn't know why he's saying it, and he feels a needle being pushed through his thin layers of flesh, so he lashes out again. The last he ears before he succumbs to the darkness probing the edges of his vision are bits and pieces of conversation floating throughout the room.

"–psychotic breakdown–"

"–psychiatric ward–"

"–protection–restrained him–his own safety–"

So many words starting with the letter _p_, and none of them nearly as hopeful as he wants. He utters, "Oh, God, help," though he knows it will do him no good because God almost gave up on him and that's why he's stuck here.

___- - - /_

Dean's snarls begin to break through the blank oblivion of Sam's mind. He awakes quickly, just in time to hear, "You have no right to keep my brother chained up like some kind of _animal!_"

Sam notices for the first time the soft restraints wrapped around his wrists and ankles, and he can't stop the low keening that begins deep in his throat and crawls upwards. And suddenly, he's hyperventilating; some instinct (_instinct? What instinct? He's a college student for God's sake, what instinct does he have?_) telling him that being restrained was dangerous.

"No!" He tries to yell, but it comes out as a hoarse whisper, and so he reaches for Dean because that's all he can recognize and he swears the doctor's eyes just rolled black–"

"Breathe, Sammy," Dean is saying to him, and he starts to calm down because Dean is calm and that means everything is okay. Dean wouldn't let anything happen to him.

"Demons." Sam struggles to warn his brother again, but as soon as Dean looks at him in confusion, his stomach drops. "Did they… you're not Dean?" Sam doesn't mean for it to come out as a question and yet it does anyway. Dean is starting to scare him because he's just staring; staring at Sam with the same expression and he can feel his body trembling and his heart palpitating unnaturally in his chest, screaming _not right, not right._

"Dean?" He questions brokenly, and his brother responds by wrapping his arms around him in the tightest hug he's ever felt before.

"I'll get you out of here, we can fix this; we can fix _you,_" he says, and Sam doesn't have the strength to ask him what exactly he means by that while Dean tries to ignore the feeling of being burned alive as flames flash before his eyes.

___- - - /_

Sam fiddles with the crisp edges of his hospital gown (_today is a good day and those don't come very often_) and wonders what is real and what isn't. Dean is real, he knows that, and he is thankful. Are the black-eyed doctors real? Some part of him says _yes, _while another part says _what kind of human has eyes that flicker black? _Mostly that first part of him wins; the stronger half.

He's not quite sure how he ended up here–wherever here is, but Dean tells him it's a hospital that's trying to fix his head or something–because the last he remembers is falling asleep next to Jessica after he kisses her forehead and pulls her to his chest. Or, no, the last he remembers is a man who refers to himself as the King of Hell and an indecisive angel. And then he sees glowing light and another man, his friend he supposes, with black hair and bright blue eyes but his face is sorrowful as he murmurs, _I'm sorry, Sam._

_Its okay, Cas, _he thinks, but it doesn't matter because he's not sure if he knows who Cas is.

Sam wonders why there are flames licking up the side of his bed and circling on his ceiling, and he can feel the heat but it's vaguely welcoming and he doesn't mind it as he falls back on a bed made of fire and falls into a peaceful sleep.

___- - - /_

"What if they kill you, Dean?" Sam speculates quietly, looking up with big blue-green eyes that belong more to a 6 year old than a 26 year old. Dean can't help but look forlornly out the window, wishing he was anywhere but here because he can't stand to see his brother like this.

"Who?"

"The demons," Sam says, like he should already know. His expression is morphing into something of horror as he says, "the ones we fight all the time. They don't like you very much, but I told them not to kill you. I don't think they listened though because they don't like me much either. Don't you remember?"

Dean slowly shakes his head and Sam's words make him shudder. "What are you talking about?" The blood pushing through his veins is pumping too slowly and he can feel himself on the edge of collapse. "Sam…?"

"No!" Sam wails, launching off the bed into his brother's unsuspecting arms. "_Nononono!_" His voice is slightly muffled, but Dean winces at the desperateness he seems to be hanging on to. "What did they do to you?" He asks brokenly, but doesn't move his head from its cave in Dean's jacket. "_What have the angels done?_"

Dean has no idea what he's talking about–_demons? angels?–_but he does everything he can to comfort his brother and it's really all he can ever do.

___- - - /_

The doctor is pacing nervously about the room with a hand on his chin in thought. He narrows his eyes at Sam's prone form and says, "We need to get him to talk."

Dean shifts uncomfortably and a look of worry passes over his face. "How?"

"You're his brother. Find a way. Quickly."

The doctor leaves and Dean is left reeling in slight shock at the dismissive tone and his quick, flighty escape. Weren't _they _supposed to be helping? They were the doctors for God's sake–he had no idea what he could do.

___- - - /_

"Hey, Sammy, time to get up," Dean says gently, as if talking to a scared animal. Sam's eyes flutter open quickly, though the fear dissipated to relief at the sight of his brother.

"Dean?" He rasps, pulling himself into a sitting position. "What's wrong? Demon? Shapeshifter? Vampire?"

Dean looks at him quizzically but then just shakes his head. "Actually, that's kinda what I wanted to talk to you about." He tries to casually sit on the bed, but the tension in his body is obvious to Sam and suddenly he looks very young and very scared.

Dean opens and closes his mouth many times, and yet he can't find the words to say. "I'll just get it over with, then," he starts awkwardly, shifting restlessly on the bed. "What do you keep talking about? All this demons and angels and supernatural crap–what are you saying? I feel like you're speaking a whole other language here, Sammy."

Dean bites his lip nervously, trying to gauge his little brother's reaction. All the color drains from Sam's face, and he attempts to scuttle backwards but the IV in his arm reminds him that he's trapped. He tries desperately to slow down his breathing and then Dean is back by his side, rubbing his hand through Sam's hair. Abruptly, he can breathe gain and Sam finds himself drawing in gasping breathes.

He thinks he remembers now, and he dreads that he has to say anything to his brother at all. "Okay," he says once he's gotten his breath back. "I'll tell you."

___- - - /_

"You're not going to like what you hear," Sam stalls obviously, averting his eyes to anywhere in the room but Dean.

"You can tell me anything, remember? It doesn't matter if I like it or not," Dean prods, doing his best not to scare his brother because it's painfully obvious that he needs him right now.

"If you don't like it, it'll hurt you. I can't do that. I can't intentionally hurt you."

Dean realizes how much this is hurting Sam, and he struggles to keep his emotions in check as he wonders how he deserves such a great little brother. "I'll be fine, Sammy. _I'm _worried about _you._"

Sam looks nervous, but he complies and starts, "I've seen it, Dean. I've seen Purgatory." He clenches his teeth and holds his breath, preparing for any other reaction but the blank look he gets from Dean, so he goes on. "I don't know if I can remember correctly, because this Sam's memories are blurring together with my mind, but I do know one thing for sure. We're _dead. _Crowley killed us, Dean–said we were interfering, and Cas… let him. He let him do it and now we're _dead."_

Dean's head is spinning as his brother keeps spouting out words that he doesn't understand. Crowley and Cas–names, he thinks–sound familiar but he's sure he's never heard them before until now. "Dead?" He echoes, disbelieving, and holds his hands up to his face. They don't look dead. They're filled with color and they're moving and very much _alive. _"You're not making sense, Sam." He looks up at his brother warily, and though he's pale from spending too much time inside this place, his chest is rising and falling and he's twitching nervously–_alive_.

Sam shakes his head as if Dean is wrong. "I'm making a lot more sense than you are," he points out and turns his eyes away again. "Do you remember anything?" He asks again, but purses his lips and answers his own question. "Of course you don't. Crowley said that Purgatory is where monsters go when they die. I…" His brow furrows and he looks troubled. "I'm not sure if that's still true or not. Maybe there are two Purgatories; one for monsters… and one for human souls."

Dean thinks that he should be glad Sam is talking in coherent sentences, but the words still don't seem to fit together correctly. It's like a puzzle is being put together with all the wrong pieces, and yet they're trying to make them fit anyway. "So what? What's the point?" He can't help the irritation seeping into his voice, and he just wants his brother back to normal. "Please tell me you're going somewhere with this."

Sam's mouth quirks up into a smirk and something like nostalgia flickers in his eyes. "Sure thing, jerk." When Dean just looks at him expectantly, the smirk drops. "This is Purgatory, Dean – a place where the human soul is sent when they're not exactly fit for Heaven, but are not tainted enough to be sent to Hell. It's a Catholic belief, but I never… never really thought it would be true." Sam looks frightened and Dean wishes he knew how to reassure him, tell him it was all in his head and that was why he was here, but this is beyond his comprehension.

"I can kind of see why you're in here, now," the older brother murmurs to himself, and Sam looks up with a sharp intake of breath and anger is swimming in his eyes.

"You don't believe me?" He sounds hurt; Dean shrugs and it's his turn to look away.

"What do you expect me to do? What do I say? You're telling me we're _dead _and in some kind of… third realm or whatever. Sorry, Sammy, but you sound pretty batshit crazy right now, and that's putting it lightly."

There's a tick in Sam's jaw and he turns away from his brother with crossed arms. He pretends not to notice the small flames dancing their way across the room casually. "Do you see them, too?" He asks quietly.

Dean doesn't want to admit it, but he says, "Yes," just as softly. "They hurt, but… I kind of like it. It feels good," he admits guiltily, "Why is that?"

Sam's lips twist into what attempts to be a smirk but turns out to be more of a grimace. "They're the flames of Purgatory. They're cleansing our souls and preparing them for Heaven." Dean isn't quite sure what to say to that because he still doesn't really believe what Sam is saying is true, so he just nods with a quick tilt of his lips.

"I wonder if Mom and Dad are here," Sam ponders aloud out of the blue. "Not real Mom and Dad–it seems kind of like this place is a parallel universe of some sort. I was–am?–married to Jess." His eyes glisten with unshed tears, but he doesn't let them fall. "I'd like to say goodbye to her. And Mom, too, 'cause I never even got to say hello."

At first, Dean is confused, because Sam is acting as if he hasn't ever been married to Jessica, and he's not sure what he means by the words 'never got to say hello'. But the fire is creeping up his legs and it's burning him and he welcomes it with a soft sigh.

___- - - /_

When Dean wakes up, the first thing he says is, "Oh, shit."

Sam snorts, and Dean tries not to jump as it echoes in his ear. "They got to you," he says nonchalantly, and it takes Dean a moment to realize he's talking about the flames.

"It's kind of hard to pull away when there are flames crawling up your ass," he retorts, and Sam laughs. _We're dead, Dean, _the words come back to him and he sits up and stares at Sam intently. "We're dead," he says, and Sam nods cautiously. "I remember."

"What I told you?" Sam asks in uncertainty, and when Dean shakes his head furiously, Sam's eyes close and he breathes deeply. "You remember," he says and nods. "I can't believe Cas let him kill us."

Dean really doesn't want to talk about this right now, but he supposes that since Sam has been with his memories longer he's itching to talk to Dean–the real Dean–and decides he doesn't have a choice. Cas was almost like another brother to him, and the betrayal is still raw and heart-wrenching. His eyes pinch with anger and distrust, and he hisses, "I can't either. To think he was… a friend. What an _ass-butt."_

Sam raises an eyebrow. "Ass-butt? Are you sure you're Dean?"

Then Dean remembers that when Cas had said that, Sam had been possessed by Lucifer, and so he wouldn't know about it. The half-joke turns sour and he regrets bringing up good (_as good as they can get, anyway_) memories of the angel-turned-bad because he was under the pretense that he was God. He changes the subject. "So, how do we get out of this one, Sammy?"

Sam reels back and looks at Dean incredulously, and Dean feels his heart plummet. "Get out of this? What do you mean, _get out of this? _Dean, this is _it, _we're dead_. _This is the end and there's no turning back."

The older Winchester is also looking at his brother in surprise, before it quickly morphs into anger. "Yeah, get out of this, Sam! Are you just giving up? You're just going to lay back and say, '_okay, we're dead'_?" He stands up and clenches his fists, and he holds back the barely-contained rage and paces. "We've 'died' a hundred times, and yet we always come back. Why is this time any different?"

Sam snaps his teeth together and he thinks that maybe he should be the responsible one and try to calm his brother down, but he feels the anger bubbling up in his blood and he welcomes it wholly. "I'm not giving up, I'm accepting it! Out of all the times we've died, have we ever gone here?" Dean grits his teeth, too, and looks away. "And before this, we've had an angel on our side. We're actually alone now–the angel is the one who pretty much killed us in the first place."

"I… don't want to be dead," Dean confesses, and Sam is shocked by his sudden resignation and change in mood.

He smiles forlornly and agrees, "I don't either. Maybe this can be a good thing; a light at the end of the tunnel."

The resentment flashes in Deans eyes but he nods dejectedly. "I feel like this… weight has been lifted off of my shoulders and I can finally _breathe _again. I don't feel guilty anymore."

Understanding crosses Sam's face and he murmurs, "We're getting close to the end. The fire is washing away our sins, but this can only end bloody. Always does, right?"

Dean purses his lips and looks skeptical. He stops pacing and sits on the hospital bed again and his jaded green eyes flicker to Sam with a new kind of light (_hope_) when he sits next to him. "I don't know, Sam. Maybe." He couldn't find it in himself to care, though, if it did. A part of him wants to cling to life (_not that he had one anymore, really_) and fight tooth-and-nail to get back and continue fighting, but he is sure that it's just something that has been engraved into his brain. It's an automatic reaction to being a hunter–don't give up, keeping fighting no matter what. Winchesters don't give up this easily and it's raging a war inside of his head.

There is another part of him that really can't believe that it is finally _over. _

Sam dips his head and Dean notices for the first time that the constant, tense air around them is gone. The mistrust and the dishonesty seems like it's a hundred years gone, and he can't grasp on to a reason to be mad at Sam anymore. Just accepting. Understanding.

___- - - /_

"Does this means we're going to heaven?"

"Yeah, Dean. I can't believe it," Sam breathes deeply through the fire, and he turns to look at his brother with a big dimpled smile.

A laugh bubbles up in Dean's chest, and he's not sure where it came from or why he's suddenly feeling euphoric, but he likes it. "I never thought we'd make it. I didn't think we were good enough. God, Sammy, I don't think I've ever been this relieved."

Sam just hums in agreement and leans his head back into the flames. The pain is burning and intense and it's peeling at his skin, and it's more painful than anything he's ever felt in his life. He doesn't resist; can't resist, because he knows it has to happen and so he embraces it into his body.

He looks at himself in morbid curiosity, and he isn't repulsed as he originally thought he would be. His skin is bubbling as if it were lava and its peeling away and falling to the floor in chunks. There's blood surrounding him in a puddle of bright, beautiful red and it's the only color he can see and he thinks _thank you, God; it's finally over._

After all, it can only end bloody, and he really wouldn't choose it any other way.

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_Please leave a review, I'd really appreciate feedback! Thanks for reading!_


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